Heroes Don't Die
by Vampire Catfish1
Summary: America dies and falls into a coma. Not only that, but his spirit is somehow stuck hovering around his body, and the only one who can see him - Prussia. Determined to get back to his lover, England, America enlists Prussias help, but when has the awesome nation done anything kind for anyone? And when America finds out a whole other side to England, will he want to return? USUK/PrUK
1. Prologue

I think this is gonna be USUK, but to be honest, I have no idea. It's gonna start of USUK and I'm almost certain there will be PruUK at some point, but apart from a general outline of how this goes, I'm basically just going to make it up as I go along. I'll leave it as just America for now, because he's the main character, but, depending on how it goes, I'll probs change it to AmericaXPrussia later on :P

Anyway, hope you enjoy :)

Please check out the poll on my profile.

* * *

It was nearly Christmas, Americas favourite holiday, on par with Thanksgiving, Halloween and July the 4th, which meant he couldn't resist going out to see all his busy people rushing around with Christmas joy.

He particularly liked hanging out in one of the main squares, staring up the Christmas tree as stressed mothers and fathers would stop and let their children play as they rested and stared up at the festive lights. Everything was so pretty and perfect, everyone was happy and no-one cared that it was so cold he swore his balls were going to freeze off. Because, who cared that your fingers were numb when there was ice skating, and free cookies and eggnog! It was so cool.

His country was always the awesomest when it came to celebrating Christmas. No-one did it bigger or flashier (and screw Finland for saying he did it best just because they came up with the concept.)

He sighed contently, rocking back and forth on his heels, warming his hands in his coat pockets as he stared up at one of the most awesome trees he'd seen all year. He had to hand it to his people, they really knew how to go all out. He had almost considered holding his yearly Christmas bash in that very square, but then remembered he would need to fill out a load of paper work to book it, and lost interest in the idea.

The tree was still beyond cool though, about a gazillion feet high (he swore it was taller than all the buildings that surrounded the square), completely decked out in red, silver and blue (best colors ever!) and a massive flashing star at the top that he had to crane his neck right back to even glimpse.

He grinned, blowing out a misty breath which steamed up his glasses and hunched his shoulders, feeling the woolly inner lining of his bomber jacket scrape the bottom of his ears before setting off to one of the malls to find wicked-but-cheap decorations for his party in a few days (because only heroes left everything to the last minute.)

But just as he reached the small road that separated the square from the mall, he stopped, shocked at the sight before him.

England, wrapped head-to-toe in winter gear, stood before him, focusing intently on a piece of paper clenched between one of his mittened hands, his huge eyebrows furrowed together as he squinted at whatever was written on it.

What the hell was he doing here? Last time he had stepped foot in his country it was to beat the living shit out of him for cheating on him with some drunk girl who needed 'saving' from her horniness (he almost lost sight of England in the crowd as he remembered what an awesome night that had been.)

Without hesitating, he called out, not wanting to miss his chance. Maybe if they reconciled quickly he could get some good ol' Christmas lovin' before his awesome party the next day.

"Hey! Arthur!" The other country froze as he finally heard his voice, turning slowly, his eyes widening in horror as he saw America advancing towards him, waving his arms in the air like an idiot and drawing the attention of a few of the humans who were milling around them.

England didn't even want to be here, but his boss had ordered him to go. Seeing America was his number one worry, as he was still beyond pissed at him for cheating on him with some stupid human woman, so to see him advancing towards him with a massive grin on his face like nothing had changed between them sent a wave of rage flowing through him.

England promptly turned, pretending he hadn't seen him and hurried off towards the mall. "Aaaaaaaaaaaarthuuuuur!" Why couldn't that idiot just shut up?

He took off across the road, focusing intently on the doors to the mall before him, hoping he could get lost in the dense crowd of last minute shoppers and find whatever the hell it was his boss had wanted him to get, and ignoring the shouts from America, asking him to 'wait up.'

But he didn't even get through the doors before he heard a screech of tires, a massive thud, followed by screams from the onlookers. His blood froze, his mind instantly thinking the worst as he slowly turned around.

His heart thudded in his ears as pushed past the circle of shoppers that was already beginning to form around the road. A strange buzzing noise grew as began to panic, and couldn't help calling out 'Alfred!', hoping his stupid voice would answer before he reached the road.

But no reply came, and as England broke from the crowd, his heart sunk at the sight before him. A jeep had stopped a few feet from where England had stumbled onto the road, its door wide and the owner tripping over his own feet in a bid to reach the man he had just hit. Cars on the other side of the road had frozen, joining everyone else, from small children to the police officers on the far side of the road who were just staring, mouths agape, focusing on the one thing England was moving towards.

He hadn't even realised he was taking small steps, his eyes tearing up and his whole body trembling as he tried to process what was happening. His ears buzzed, blocking out the sounds of a woman screaming for an ambulance, the cries of children just old enough to know what they were seeing and alarm from a parked car that had flared up when another hit it. He cursed his thick duffle coat and mittens that made it almost impossible to wrap his trembling fingers around the man as he knelt down beside him.

Arthur's vision was blurred, but he could still make out the twisted body, the torn up leg that seemed to bend the wrong way, the shattered glasses lying not two feet from the victims head, and white 50 printed boldly on the back of his bomber jacket.


	2. Chapter 1

Took a while to get it out, but here's the second chapter :)  
I'm a lot more pleased with it than I am with the prologue, and spent a while making sure it was pretty good.

Hope you enjoy. :)

Please check out the poll on my profile.

* * *

The hospital room was too bright, the noises from the machines too piercing and the mood of the room too grim. Whitewash walls, large windows that caught direct sun no matter the time of day and ceilings so pointlessly high that the echoes were a nightmare to any who actually wanted to sleep.

The entire room itself was large. A ward, if you would, with beds stretching 20 a-piece on each side of the room, greying bedsheets and a lack of patients (except for one lone old man who hadn't had a visitor in all the three years he had resided there) giving each one of the nations that tried to focus on anything but the motionless America an even greater sense of underlying dread.

He lay there, his head propped up by a pillow supplied by the over-attentive England, a drip connected into his arm, the cover pulled up to his chin and a few machines beeping contently either side of the bed, telling everyone that America was, in the most basic sense, alive. His broken glasses lay forlornly on the bedside table next to a full jug of water and a battered copy of Hamlet England had had with him at the time of the accident. His trademark jacket, now splattered with blood and dust and torn and scraped where America had landed, now hung on the back of the chair that Arthur sat, with only France's protective hand on his shoulder to stop him falling apart completely.

One would usually say 'it was almost as if he was sleeping' but every single one of the fifty-odd nations that crowded around the room had already been informed it was anything but.

America wasn't waking up.

Nations got hurt all the time, it was just a thing they had to live with, what with being the personifications of countries an all. A tsunami hits Japan? The right side of his body becomes battered and beaten and takes weeks to heal. A bomb goes off in the underground in London? Arthur's leg shatters and he has to walk around on crutches for a few days. That was just how things were.

After the crash, before England had slipped into his numb state, he had the common sense to call someone and tell them what had happened. The last contact in his awkwardly ancient mobile – France. After that, it was France's quick thinking that got America out of the crowded city hospital the ambulance called by a bystander has rushed him to, where his health would be carefully monitored and recorded, to Sunny Hills, a healing facility that had the lowest patient count in the world, and was only kept running by the donations of the old man at the far end of the room.

After a month in the facility, it was clear something was wrong with America.

In the first week it appeared as if everything was going smoothly. Apart from the general accidents and deaths that hurt his people on a daily basis, nothing extra-ordinary had happened. There had been no natural disasters, no bombings or killing sprees that had caused the death count to suddenly spike. Yes, he had broken lot of bones, his entire left leg had been mangled, he had glass shards embedded in and around his eyes that had needed to be removed with tweezers, as well as his jacket being melted into his skin, but he had received far worse injuries than that when his country had been at war. Injuries directly sustained, rather than burned into the land they represented, vanished in a matter days, and that was exactly what had happened with America.

After a week he still had some light cuts around his eyes, and the scar from his skin graft on his arm had yet to completely fade, but his bones had healed fully and he was already passed the stage where he would be released, human or not.

But America wasn't wasn't waking up.

England had been by his bedside for a weeks now, either gently tending to him, reading to him or passed out next to him – all the while never letting go of his hand. France had been with him through most of it, painfully watching as his rival in everything slowly deteriorated and trying to convince him that America would wake up.

_He's just sleeping. He needs to heal._ England kept telling himself while clinging to America's hand and staring at him pensively, as if he might suddenly wake up when England wasn't looking.

The first week passed and America still lay still. As the second week started to reach its end, various nations came and went, saying their pieces just in case America didn't rise again. England had responded with angry words, snarling and swearing, until France called upon Scotland who started to put him in his place. Allistor forced his little brother out of the room, leaving France to tend to the sleeping America while Arthur bathed, shaved and had his first good meal in weeks. But caring words and familial kindness was doing nothing for the Brit.

They returned after two days to find a worn out France and an unmoving America, and all Scotland's work came undone.

After a month some began to panic. America wasn't waking up, so what if something happened to them? What if a single large dispute caused by the humans sent them into a coma from which they would never awaken? None of them had failed to notice America's sudden plummet when it came to trading and business, the sudden rise in mysterious deaths and weird incidents such as the migration of wild animals either far north or far south, even those that were meant to be hibernating for the winter.

And so, to settle everyone, Germany, France and a reluctant England agreed to summon any nation interested to America's bedside to discuss the problem, but it wasn't going well.

For the past hour, the various nations had be been arguing non-stop, some purely for the sake of arguing. The Asia's wouldn't stop bickering, Spain and the Netherlands had been glaring at each from opposite sides of the circle and Denmark wouldn't stop whining at Norway to pay him attention. Austria had been interested in the phenomena, meaning Hungary had followed him along, and Romania had only turned up to argue with her, and when Prussia entered the room late, most were certain all hell was going to break loose. But, after a snarl from Scotland which nearly had Italy in tears, the nations quietened down.

All during the meeting, Arthur sat on the only chair next to America's bed, his hand clasped around America's and practically ignoring all other nations, while Scotland stood protectively between the bed and England. France hovered behind them, his eyes darting, worried for both Scotland and England while Prussia stood on the left side of the bed, suspiciously quiet.

After the meeting ended, with no conclusions reached, each nation stepped forward to say something to America. Allistor moved Arthur out of the way for his own sake, taking him to stand on the other side of the room and muttering non-stop to Arthur that everything was going to be okay.

Hours passed as the nations said farewell, slowly leaving in twos and threes, the occasional few coming over and giving a few words of encouragement to Arthur, but they were all lost on him. Allistor could tell the lad was off in a world of his own. He was never able to handle tragedy properly – it took him years to get over the War of Independence, and Scotland shuddered to think how long it might take him to recover if America remained in a coma for the rest of their living days.

France, Spain and Prussia were the last remaining nations to say farewell, coming over to speak to England before they bade their dues. France spoke for a long, long time. The others waited patiently for him to finish, knowing they would exactly the same if their unrequited love was in pain. No matter what France said, England just blinked and stared blankly at the same place on the floor, his eyes unmoving for what could have been hours now.

"_Mon cher_," he said, pained, taking England's face in his hands and trying force the man to look at him. "Please, respond."

No-one noticed the pain that flickered over Allistor's face at his words, Arthur too numb to notice how his brother's hand tightened around his shoulder or to hear his sharp intake as Francis voice cracked.

"Francis." Spain said softly, gently removing his friends hands. "Let's leave him to his brother, okay?" He nodded and stepped back, letting his hand linger on Arthur's cheek for just a while longer before letting Antonio move him.

"Gil." Antonio turned to the white-haired Prussian who had been staring thoughtfully at the sleeping American ever since he joined the group without saying a word. "You coming?"

"Just gimme a minute. I want to say my goodbyes in private." Spain rose a brow at this, surprised the Prussian was that close to their American friend. He shrugged, not wanting to question his grief, and turned his back on him to follow France out of the ward.

Prussia and Scotland looked at each other the moment the ward doors slammed behind their friends with an ominous boom. Though they had been firm friends, their gazes were hard, almost as if they knew something they couldn't let the third man left in the room know.

"Come on, Artie." Allistor leant down to his brother and tugged sharply on his shoulder. "You've been 'ere a week now. You fucking reek and I canny 'av ya moping around so much." Scotland clapped his brother on the shoulder and lead him out of the room, both of them throwing one last glance to the sleeping America before shutting the door and leaving Prussia to say his goodbyes.

...xXx...

"Hey, do ya still think, after all that..." Prussia said quietly as the last of the nations filed out. Turning, his arms still folded, he looked up above Americas bed, grinning as met eyes with a floating figure. "that he still hates you?"


	3. Chapter 2

Fingers-crossed I'm a good enough writer that this chapter will tug on your feels ^^'  
Also, I added a story picture, which you can hopefully see...

Anyway, hope you enjoy :)

Please check out the poll on my profile.

* * *

If America had to the list things he did the most on a monthly basis, he was pretty sure dying would come into the top ten.

It wasn't like he meant to keep getting killed! The world was just a dangerous place. How was he supposed to know that you were meant to take the cling-film off of oven pizzas before you cooked and ate them? Or that you were meant to use special vegetable oil instead of chip fat in those organic cars. Or that bears **really** didn't like being poked by sticks!

Being hit by a car was a new one though. He was usually pretty good when it came to roads, even busy ones in the middle of Christmas season, and so was very surprised to find himself being throw up in the air with England screaming his name.

He was _so_ glad he'd woken up though. How depressing would it have been if he died and his last thought was _'I need to buy more Twinkies'_?*

He'd woken up in a hospital bed. Not that he minded, he just thought it was odd as the whole room was completely empty apart from this weird old guy about ten or so beds away who was staring out the window and sighing. The oddest thing was that there was no-one around. Like,_ no-one_. He'd have thought some of the other nations would have come to see him or something. Canada was usually there when he got put in hospital, or that creepy-ass Russia, or England...

That reminded him. _England._ What had happened to him? Or better yet, why had he even been in America in the first place? Usually, when he was mad at him (which was a lot,) he would refuse to leave Britain and just mope around, or spend time at that stupid France's house.

Oh well, he could apologise later. England was super-mad at him before, but if America had been hurt... He chuckled. It meant he was totally off the hook. He bet England was freaking out right now. He always did when America got hurt. He was such a worry-wort. He still didn't understand that they were countries. They couldn't die, yet he insisted on fussing over America every time he injured himself.

Everything was good now, though. He was awake and alive again, and now he could finally get more Twinkies!

But not right now. He was really tired for some reason. He guessed it might have something to do with the weird tube stuck into his arm that he couldn't feel for some reason. Maybe he was super-tolerant to pain now! That would be cool.

He decided to sleep. The Twinkies could wait. It wasn't like they were going anywhere.**

...xXx...

He woke up again to find a teary-eyed England by his bedside, clutching his hand and sobbing quietly. "England!" He grinned, sitting up and twisting to face him. "Woah! You look terrible!" England's hair was all matted, his clothes were wrinkled and he had weird blonde stubble that made him look like a high-class hobo, or a drunkard. But it was more than that. He looked tired, his face was drawn and pallid and his entire body seemed to droop. Sure, he was crying, but it was like he had been crying for weeks.

"Hey, dude, cheer up! I'm here now!"

His hand was really sore for some reason, like it was being gripped really hard or something. "H-Hey, England?" He started waving his hands frantically in front of his lovers face, praying for some kind of response. But there was a nothing. Just quiet sobs as England buried his face in one of his hands and clung on America's with the other.

"C'mon, dude." He started panicking, his voice rising in pitch as it broke. "T-This isn't funny."

"I don't care that you cheated on me with that blonde whore." England rasped, his voice hoarse and gristly. England squeezed his hand tighter and Alfred was sure his fingers were going to break. It hurt that much. "I forgive you. I forgive you for everything, so please... Just wake up..."

"E-England?" he gave a pained laugh. "What's goin' on?" And then he noticed it. It had been niggling him out of the corner of his eye, but he was too focused on England to fully see it.

Both of America's hands were busy trying to get his attention, so who's hand was England holding?

"I love you." England gave a choked sob, clenching America's hand.

"England!" He screamed, terrified. "England! Look at me!"

But no matter how much he called out it was no use. For weeks on end he kept shouting at England whenever he wasn't sleeping. Screaming his name, singing the only four words of the British national anthem he knew, reciting food jingles until he swore his throat would wear out but England just wouldn't listen.

He had come to terms with the fact he was spirit pretty quickly, and gotten over it even faster. He didn't care that he was ghost, a ghoul, whatever, he just needed England to notice him. It was also obvious that he couldn't move more than five feet from his body, as he was left calling desperately after England when he tried to follow him from the room, frightened he would never return.

It was hardest when England would start whispering to him, relieving stories of their time together and saying over and over how much he loved Alfred. Even when America wrapped his arms around England's sobbing form, trying to comfort him, there was no reaction.

Nothing America was doing was working and it was killing him, but he refused to give up. They were soul mates! They had loved each other for as long as they could both remember, be it familial love, when England smothered him with affection, or later on their lives, when it was America's turn to adore him in return. There was no way a little thing like death could stop America reaching England, he just needed to find a way to get him to notice he was there.

During the third week, America had worked hard on his telekinetic skills. If the dudes in Paranormal Activity could do it, why not him? For three days he had stared at England's book mark, a folded drawing that he had given England as a present when he was still a boy, trying to make it move. He almost started crying in relief when it finally shifted ever so slightly, over-joyed that he would be able to at least let Arthur know he was there. That was until England returned and pulled shut the window behind America's bed, commenting on how it was almost as cold as Alaska, causing them both to break down, America clinging to the feeling in his hand like it was his only lifeline.

After that, the days just seemed to drift on by. America would sleep and awaken to find England, more worn out than ever, and the occasional nation coming to say something to either him or England.

He wasn't sure how long it had been, as he kept sleeping for longer periods of time now, only waking when England was around and ignoring anything any of the other two said. He was growing more and more depressed as he saw England grow weaker, ignoring everything else and focusing his whole being on the task of sitting at Alfred's bedside and waiting for him to wake up.

One day, maybe a week or two after Alfred had 'moved' the paper, he awoke to find group-upon-group of nations filing into the hospital room and crowding around his bedside. They all kept flicking nervous glances at his physical self (he refused to call it his 'body' - it sounded far too morbid) and at each other, none of them really sure how to act.

Germany stood at the foot of his bed, Italy by his side, and addressed the nations. "I know we all want America to wake up, but it's been a month now and -"

"No! Don't!" America shouted out, floating around their heads, desperately trying to get just one of the nations attention.

"We need to do something. We can't risk it happening to one of us!" Austria said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Don't give up! Please!"

"What if someone discovers his body, and us?" Japan asked out of curiosity. Dread and panic filled him as he looked down at them discussing him like he was an object.

"I'm not dead! Stop treating me like I'm gone!" He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the tears. "I'm the hero, remember?" His voice started to crack as he stared at each and every one of their faces. They were people he had grown up with, who he worked and who he had made life-long bonds with and they were all abandoning him. "I'll wake up." He started sobbing, knowing none of them apart from his lover ever believed he was coming back. "I promise I'll wake up, so please... Just..." He couldn't hold back the tears. This was finally it. He was going to be forgotten, left alone to rot in an empty hospital while his people suffered due to his own carelessness. "Guys... please..." He sobbed, his hope crumbling. "Please...Stop it..."

"It's fine. The hospital will be purchased in one of our names. We can keep him here as long as we need."

"DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!" He screamed with everything he had, but it was no use.

He gave after that, floating above his body and watching them with silent tears as they all began to leave, most of them coming forward and saying something to him. He said his own goodbyes too, even crying for the nations he didn't even know existed. They knew him enough to forget him, that was all that was important.

They were down to the last five nations. Only five more people to remember him and then he would be nothing, with his only company being the crazy old man at the bottom of the room who he couldn't even talk to, and not just because he was a spirit.

"Gil." Spain turned to the Prussian, asking softly. "You coming?"

"Just give me a minute. I want to say my goodbyes in private." Alfred numbly watched them interact, hurt by how England had done nothing to try to convince them not to abandon him.

"Come on, Artie." Scotland grabbed his brother's shoulder and took him away.

Seeing Arthur being led out the room was the hardest. A fresh waves of tears came over him and he could barely call out a goodbye, letting a choked sob drown him as he tried to call England's name.

And then there was Prussia. America barely knew him, so ignored the albino as he stared after England, willing him to turn around just once more and see him, for him to come back and never leave him ever again.

That was it. It was over, done. He would never see another one of them. It was like they had set up a funeral service before murdering him, letting him experience all the love they had for him while knowing he was going to die. And it wasn't just because they couldn't see him, no. It was also because they let him go.

Why couldn't they just believe that he would live on?

And the person he was left to say his final goodbye to? Prussia. Germany's stupid brother, who wasn't even a nation anymore._ Great._ He though sarcastically as he continued to sob, too wrapped up in his own miserable to notice the Prussian wasn't looking at his physical self. _Just great._

...xXx...

"Hey, do ya still think, after all that..." Prussia said quietly as the last of the nations filed out. Turning, his arms still folded, he looked up above Americas bed, grinning as he met a pair of very shocked, blue tear-stained eyes, "that he still hates you?"

* * *

*Yeah, I decided that Alfred's coma is the reason Twinkies vanished...  
**Oh, the irony...


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. I got serious warm fuzzies :3

And super secret reviewer – I've answered your question at the end of the chapter, hopefully, at least.

Anyway, enjoy :)

Please check out the poll on my profile.

* * *

"You..." His voice cut off with a choked sob. "You can see me!?" His voice was barely a whisper, all the agony and grief vanishing as teared up again in pure joy. He collapsed, his form floating forlornly as he held his arms around himself, bent over, sobbing loudly in relief. "You can see me. You can see me. You can..." He kept repeating over and over again as he rocked back and forth, his breath stolen from him.

Prussia could see him.

He wouldn't be forgotten.

And he wasn't going to be alone anymore.

England would finally know he was there. After months of trying his prayers had finally come true. It didn't matter that he couldn't touch England, or hold him, or love him, just as long as England knew that he wasn't gone, that he hadn't left him alone in the world. He could finally tell England how sorry he was, how much he regretted what he had done in the heat of the moment and how he would never leave him again.

There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to tell England that he wasn't sure he'd be able to fit it all into words. But it was fine now. Even it took a hundred years to return to his body, England would know he was there and they could still interact, even if it wasn't through touch or sight or taste.

"Have you finished yet?" Prussia sighed after five minutes of America's sobbing.

After crying away everything he had in him, he was left feeling weak and awkward, small and embarrassed that Prussia had seen the hero's tears. He felt hollow and empty, but it was nothing compared the happiness bubbling beneath the surface.

He sniffled, rubbing away the tears with the back of his hands and hoped he wasn't blushing. Heroes didn't get embarrassed, or sniffle, or cry. He shook his head, clapping his hands against his cheeks as he tried to steady himself. He was just so jumbled up right now that he didn't know what to feel.

"'Dude'," Prussia teased. "You can fly. Why aren't you happier?" He paused, confusion flickering across his face before he grinned. "You can be like that guy you love. Super-something. Um... Superhero? Superbat?"

"Superman." He pouted childishly. How could anyone get that wrong?

"Yeah! Superhuman."

"Man." Everything else had lessened, dwarfed by annoyance at Prussia's mistake. "It's Superman, idiot."

"Oooooh~" He kept grinning, his blood-red eyes twinkling as if he knew something America didn't. "Sorry." He smirked, sounding anything but.

"You should be glad I can't hit you." He said as fierce as a newborn pup, his voice still hoarse from crying as he glared at Prussia, his hands curling into fists.

Prussia laughed. "It's just as well you didn't end up like Byzantine then, isn't it?"

"What the hell is a Byzantine?"

"That's a Byzantine." Prussia chuckled, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

"Hey!" a voice shouted from the back the room, drawing Americas eyes to old, ugly woman in a white night-gown floating near the ceiling who he was sure hadn't been there before.

"Ew." America grimaced, so used to being on his own that he had forgotten to think before he spoke.

"I know..." Prussia smirked as they both watched her. "Charming woman, her."

"Fuck off!" She screeched.

"Love you too!" he cupped his mouth as he called back to her. She flipped him a middle finger before sailing out a closed window, leaving America wondering how she was able to when he could barely move five feet from his physical self.

He shot a grin at America before continuing on. "Anyway! I was thinking on it, trying to work out what was wrong with you, and it turns out you got 'Dead'."

"Got... Dead...?" He wasn't that great at when it came to English, even though he learnt from the best, but he was pretty sure that sounded wrong.

"Yeah, it's super-serious disease." Prussia's eyes darkened. "About 1 in every 1 human gets it." He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "And in every single reported case of 'Dead', the person died." He shook his head sadly, folding his arms. "There's no cure for it either."

This sounded serious. He was using statistics and data, so there was no way he could be wrong. "W-What do I do!?" He wailed, panicking. How was he going to get back to his body if he had Dead? How was he going to see Arthur again? How was he going to let him know that he loved him with all his heart if he had Dead?

Prussia watched, beyond amused as America started to freak out. Teasing him about one of his stupid superheroes had been an awesome stroke of genius to get him to revert back to his usual and stupid self, but this was just priceless. He was never going to let the so-called 'superpower' forget this one.

He couldn't take it at more, and burst out laughing as America floated in circles, looking left and right for something that might help him.

France was right, Prussia thought as he wiped away the tears of laughter, America's pout making it all the more hilarious, he really was an idiot.

"Prussia~" He whined, floating down towards him. "Help me~"

Before he could reply, the doors at the end of the hall burst open to reveal Allistor. He glided towards them with an evil look in his eye. Prussia recognised that look from anywhere. It was a look that let people know that one wrong word would have them stuck in a hospital for weeks with everyone of their limbs individually broken by his own hand.

"Did you forget something?" Prussia asked, his tone nervous at the sight of his angry eyes.

He withdrew his cigarette, blowing out a slow breath before lifting his head and glaring at America. "Aye, jus' one thing." He growled quietly, America stiffening in fright as his eyes bore into him.

Maybe being seen wasn't such a good thing after all...

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter was so shit...I just needed some light banter between the two of them before the shit storm that's about to come. I'll probably come back and rewrite it at some point...

This one was actually pretty hard to write, mainly because I'm a total Scotland fangirl (you wouldn't have guessed from my other stories :P ) and so I've been writing the chapters with him in it. Just a heads up, Scotland's language is going to be rather...fruity... Also, his is the only accent I can type out, so he'll be speaking differently,sort of...um... You'll see what I mean when we get there... ^^'

On the bright side, this means the next chapters should be coming out relatively quickly... I think... Probably... I'm working on some fic requests and a 30 Day Challenge right now, so we'll have to see...

Also, if you can figure why both Allistor and Prussia can see him before chapter five is published, I'll write you a oneshot ^^ (Just PM or leave a review with your suggestion and I'll get back to you :D )

And Grandpa Rome? I'm so sorry about turning your twin into an ugly old woman ;_;

Oh! And to the reviewer who asked how you can die and then fall into a coma – the personifications can't properly die, even when they are severely injured, as the country itself is still whole, so they heal pretty quickly and then just go back to their 'normal' lives. So, when America got hit by the car, he died, his body started to heal but he's now stuck in a coma and can't wake up.

Er... Yeah... I hope that makes sense...

Also, I'll try to get Pandamonium updated by the end of tomorrow :)

Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you're enjoying it so far ^-^


	5. Chapter 4

"A-Allistor..."

"Are ya happy with yerself?" He growled, taking another drag.

"H-Huh?"

"You heard me!" He shouted, his eyes flashing. "You have no fucking clue how much Artie has been depending on you! He -"

"Hey." Prussia moved, standing between the bed and Scotland, looking up at the man he called his friend with hard eyes. "Now is not the time for this, Allistor."

"Don't patronise me, Gil." He snarled.

"Y-You can see me too?" America stared at him, wide-eyed. Scotland, England's brother and one of the closest people to Arthur bar himself, could actually see him.

"No shit I can fucking see you, you retard. Who the fuck do you think I am?" He gave a hollow laugh at America's blank look. "You really have no fuckin' clue about us, do you? No wonder Artie keeps this side o' himself hidden from you. " He took a slow drag, exhaling with a growl as he kept his fiery eyes glued to the trembling American. He was too scared to even ask what Scotland meant by Arthur's 'hidden side'.

"You couldny imagine how happy I was to find that you were fucking stuck here instead of moving on." He sounded anything but happy. "Think 'ow glad I felt when I knew I'd be able to hear your whining and moaning every single time I came to pick my brother up. And you fucking crying every single hour during that piece o' shit that was meant to be your funeral? How the hell do you think I felt havin' to hear you sobbing about how you were going to be forgotten and how you didn't want to be alone? _'Don't. Stop. I'll wake up. I'm the hero.'_" His face twisted as he mocked America, who still hadn't recovered from the pain of one of the most terrifying moments of his life. "What kind of fucking man are you?" He seemed to snarl with each breath, his thick accent making his mockery and hate only more brutal to America, who was frozen in fear as Scotland shouted.

"What about Prussia, huh?"

"Hey, Allistor..." Prussia said softly, his eyes going dark as he glared at his friend.

"He's not even a fucking country any more and he's still better human being than your sorry ass. Yer a fucking super-power, you twat. Gil has ta deal with the fact that he's going to vanish one day, an _your_ the one who's crying about not being heard. Think of someone else for once in yer shitty life, you arrogant prick."

"You need to calm down." Prussia said softly, trying to placate Scotland, but it as no use.

"He can't do magic." He continued to shout. "D'ya ken what that means? Every single one of us fuckin' Kirkland's can do it, and no matter how shit we are at it, we all get familiars ta help us along in life. Artie canny see his anymore, at all. They've been circling around him since yer fuckin' accident, tryin' ta get his attention and dying because he CAN'T FUCKIN' SEE THEM!"

There was no stopping Allistor now. America could see true rage in his eyes, and he was just glad that he didn't know America could still feel pain through his physical form.

"And I suppose ya know **all **about how every time your fuckin' "4th of July" comes around, Artie sits at home, drinkin' away, tryin' to forget about the shit YOU put him through!"

"He raised you, loved you from the moment he set eyes on you and gave you everything you wanted, and what did you do in return? Ya betrayed him, left him fer me ta clean up and try to put him back together after ya destroyed his heart. I was totally against ya waltzin' back in ta his life like ye had a right to, but he was happy, happier than he'd been in a while, an' so I left it.

"Okay." America choked, tearing up. "I understand." He gasped, trembling at the Scotsman's anger. "I get it, I'm sorry... So, please, stop -"

"Yer 'sorry''? Ya think yer fuckin' 'sorry'? Cos last time I checked, sleepin' with some blonde whore takes more than a second to do. Or are you just that fuckin' retarded?" He snarled cruelly. "Were ya 'sorry' when she threw herself inta yer lap? Or 'sorry' when ya went up ta the room that you and Artie make love in every night and shagged her brains out!"

"Scotland." Prussia warned

"Or 'sorry' when you shook hands with her afterwards like the fuckin' retard you are, tellin' her 'thanks for that' with that god-awful grin on yer face."

"Scotland, stop." Prussia pressed, louder this time.

"Why?" His voice softened, his brow furrowing as the pain he felt at America's betrayal of his brother started to show, his voice cracking. "What could have possibly made ya sleep with 'er? Was Artie not enough? Was he not satisfyin' you, or did ya jus' want ta try it wi' a woman fer once in yer fuckin' miserable -"

"H-How?" Alfred stared at the Scot, wide-eyed and terrified at what he was being told. He had spent the night with the woman, but even he didn't know her name, and there was no way that Scotland could known these things unless he had talked to her...

"You shouldn't be asking me "how"!" He roared up at America. "You should be thinkin' about how lucky you are I dinny fuckin' - "

"Allistor!" Prussia shouted, cutting him off. There was a moment of silence as they glared at each other, Allistor scowling as Prussia hardened his gaze, neither of the sure of Scotland would allow his rage to take over. "Leave. Now." He ordered, sounding serious for once. "Before you kill someone."

All the tension in Prussia suddenly vanished as he flicked a smirk at America. "No pun intended."

They stared each other down, Prussia holding his ground against Scotland's glare. America had heard rumours of how fearsome Scotland could be, but he never thought it would be this terrifying.

"Fuckin' yankee." He snarled up at America as he took a drag of his dying cigarette, nodding once to Prussia before taking off, his heavy boot-steps echoing around the large room as he made his way to the doors. He shot a glare at the old man who had been watching them in quiet interest the entire time before storming out, furiously attempting to light a new cigarette while rubbing his aching ear.

...xXx...

"Sorry." Prussia said softly, not taking his eyes from the door, worried that Scotland would return. It wasn't that he was scared of his friends rage. It was more that he was concerned what Scotland might have let slip if he had continued shouting at America. "I need to check on him."

He didn't once look at America as he hurried off, knowing the guilt he had been trying so hard to ignore about what he had done and what he had allowed to happen would instantly arise.

"Yer a cruel man." Scotland growled quietly as the door clicked shut behind him. Prussia jumped, a tremor of nervousness shooting through him, and turned to meet Allistor's glare, a new cigarette quietly burning away in one gloved hand as he rubbed his iron earring with the other.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope the way I typed out Scotland's speech didn't take away any of the tension I was trying to create. I toned it down a lot for this chapter so hopefully it was easier to read :)

Also, you can read a piece about England's depression from Scotland's POV here - /s/8817794/1/Independence-Day-Blues (add the usual address before this – it can also be found under 'My Stories' titled 'Independence Day Blues')

Everyone who reviewed/PMed with their guess got Prussia's right – he can see America because he's not a country anymore and 'dead' himself, but no-one has guessed why Allistor can see America so far :P I'll give you a little clue – I've mentioned it slightly in this one, but it's technically mentioned in the anime as well. Anyway, a one shot for whoever can guess it ^-^

I laughed at the review who said about the twinkie shortage being reason for America's coma. If I didn't already have a reason, I would have so made that it :P

And just be glad I already have the next few chapters planned out, because, after America said 'How?' I was totally prepared to have Scotland rip of his shirt and scream 'because I'm that woman!'

Please check out the poll on my profile.

***...Reviews Make a Happy Writer...***


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